Chapter Fourteen - Part One

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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Bones were crushed and simultaneously rebuilt, as fur sprouted and fangs grew. A man crouched, naked on the floor, writhing in pain as his body was renovated through a gruesome, grotesque transformation. But even though I had never seen an actual shift (although I had been through the process several times myself), and now realized how ugly and horrific it appeared to an outsider looking in, I still marveled at it. Ethan’s grunts, snarls, and howls of pain eventually produced an animal more stunning than I had ever seen – a surprisingly regal creature, with dark brown fur and eyes that blazed with Ethan’s hazel color. Its ears were perked and alert as it sneezed and then licked a wet snout. It growled once and then dropped to its haunches, watching George raptly with an intelligent, vigilant gaze.

George’s light, khaki pants gradually stained a darker, tan color in the crotch at the sight of the wolf’s sharp, white fangs. And at the strong stench of George’s urine, I was satisfied in knowing that he no longer held even the slightest trace of a threat.

“The file is here, isn’t it? In this folder, marked ‘Patients Deceased?’” I asked. I had finally made it to the L’s.

“Y-y-yes.” George stammered, nodding quickly. “We keep complete records of every corpse that we autopsy. It’s p-part of our guidelines – we get inspections, ya know?”

“Yeah, well, you did a pretty shitty job of covering your tracks. And for goodness’ sake – get a new computer, George.”

“Oh, I promise! I promise, we will!”

A short time later, I finally located my father’s folder. I opened it, feeling a mixture of trepidation and excitement. My hands trembled slightly, as I recognized the first page of my father’s autopsy report. With a deep breath, I clicked the print icon in the corner of the screen, feeling satisfaction as I heard the computer’s small (and surprisingly modern) printer buzzing to life.

“Are you ready to tell me why you took out a whole section of my father’s report before you released it to the public?” I said to George. “What did you write that could be so bad that you would hide it from the rest of the world?”

“We were told to,” said George, faintly, looking as if he could pass out. “Mr. Harrison and I, we had no choice – I swear it!”

“Right,” I said, plucking the collection of crisp, white pages that had passed their way into the printer’s tray. I walked to George and handed the small stack of papers to him, waiting.

“Explain,” I said, firmly. “And start with page five, please.”

George didn’t hesitate. He took the pages immediately, flipping through them in earnest, to the correct page. He scanned first, before reading aloud, getting reacquainted with the old, hazardous words.

“The first page is a-a small list of-of drugs that were found in his system. And the next three pages after that just go into more detail about the compounds of the drugs.”

“Drugs?” I asked, in a sharp tone. “What kind of drugs?”

“Uh. Um. Alcohol – the drinking kind. Potassium chloride, and a muscle relaxant.”

“Potassium chloride? Correct me if I’m wrong, George, but isn’t potassium chloride supposed to be a good thing? It’s a medication, right? I remember one of my foster parent’s having to take it.”

“Yes, that’s true.” George replied, with a nod. “In many cases, potassium chloride is used to treat a condition in patients known as hypokalemia. It’s when an individual has extremely low potassium levels. And potassium chloride can treat or help prevent this ailment. But, in Mr. Noble’s case, the drug was detected in a dangerously high level in his blood. We knew it was responsible for his demise. There was just too much of it in his system – it stopped his heart entirely.”

“So what you’re saying, is that he didn’t die of a heart attack? He was poisoned?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

“No, Mr. Noble died of a heart attack – of that we’re certain – but it was from a direct result of the potassium chloride. A small puncture wound, on the inside of his right arm, indicated recent usage of a syringe.”

“But in the police report, Jack’s wife also gave a statement that her husband had fallen from his horse. Did that really happen? Couldn’t that have contributed to his death?”

As I had feared – but expected – George shook his head no.

“Usually a fall from a horse – especially from someone that’s unconscious – would result in a hard enough impact that the victim would come away with at least a few scrapes or bruises. But in Mr. Noble’s case, there were no such injuries to indicate a fall…”

So she had lied. Paris had lied to the police about her husband’s death. The revelation of it made me breathless, nauseous, and furious all at once.

“And you hid this?” I asked, shaking as the hackles on the wolf began to rise, letting George Grey know that he was perilously close to danger. “Why?”

“As I said, we had n-no choice!” George said, back to stuttering again.

“Why not?” I demanded. “This man was obviously murdered, and you cowards covered that up. What excuse could justify what you and Doctor Harrison did?”

“As it turns out, money happens to talk just a little bit louder than words…”

Mr. Harrison’s raspy voice broke the flow of conversation. He was still drowsy, wincing slightly as he turned his head to look at me.

“Welcome back, Mr. Harrison.” I said, with contempt. “And since you’ve made it clear that you’re ready to contribute to this enlightening conversation, why don’t you say out loud the name of the person it was who paid you to hide part of the autopsy? Who convinced you to keep the truth about Jack’s death a secret?”

But Mr. Harrison looked at me with stubborn resilience.

“I know what you two are, and you can’t do this to me! I know my rights, and according to the Rules of the Red, since you attacked me – and needlessly might I add – you’ve also forfeit your life to me. You have no choice but to do as I say.”

“That’s pretty astute, Mr. Harrison,” I said, remaining un-phased. “But unfortunately for you, Humans can’t invoke the Rules – only other Supernaturals. So, let’s try this one more time, shall we…?”

Losing patience, I strode over to the table that Mr. Harrison was strapped down against. Using one hand, I gripped a corner of the table, and with my other, I smashed my palm down in the table’s center, (right between Mr. Harrison’s legs). He cried out, in both pain and surprise, as the table was forced upwards. And it balanced now, with its edge against the floor, so that Mr. Harrison was left to dangle, helplessly. Together, the wolf and I watched him strain against the fetters of the table, grunting. Pain and discomfort grew in every wrinkle across his brow as he began to reconsider his nerve.

Suddenly, with a growl, Ethan lunged forward, and placed two mighty paws on either side of Mr. Harrison. I watched with a considerable admiration as he snarled again and snapped his teeth, just centimeters from the poor man’s crooked nose.

All color drained from the doctor’s face.

“Tell me what happened the day my father died.” I ordered. “Was his wife with him?”

But the good doctor could concentrate on nothing else as he gazed, with horror, at Ethan. Sweat stood out across his brow, and his hands clenched and opened, uselessly, while his arms remained pinned at his sides.

“Call him off!” Mr. Harrison cried out weakly. “For god’s sake! Call him off, please!”

“Down boy. I think he’s had enough.” I said lightly, and the wolf backed off, retreating to his former place, with a last rumble of warning.

“Now talk,” I said.

“Mr. Noble was brought to the hospital by ambulance.” Mr. Harrison said, licking his lips hastily. “But by the time he arrived, the sirens were off and he had already been pronounced dead. No one upstairs could find a pulse, and they couldn’t revive him either, so they brought him down here. But we didn’t open him up. We decided to draw a blood sample first. We sent it in, and the results came back to us within a few hours…”

“Go on.”

“Alright!” Doctor Harrison said, panting a little. “That same day, a woman arrived to identify the body. She claimed to be his wife, and asked us if we found anything in his system, so we told her what we found. But she was calm. She asked us to strike that from the original report, and to leave the body untouched after that. So we revised it, printed the new version, and took those documents to the hospital clerk who released the records six weeks later. But it appears that my genius coworker forgot to double check before he closed the report, which is why you noticed the missing pages– you idiot.” Mr. Harrison finished, directing this last part to his colleague.

“How much did she pay the both of you to do this?” I said. “What did she offer you?”

“Fifty-thousand each, and the luxury of keeping our heads attached to our necks.” George spoke up, unexpectedly losing some of his timidity beneath the wrath of Mr. Harrison. It seemed he had finally gotten tired of all that verbal mistreatment.

“She stopped by the morgue again the next day.” George continued, eagerly. “She asked to be alone with him for an hour, if she could. So we left her there, and had lunch. And when we came back she was still there, but the body was gone. She told us that she was having him cremated, and that she didn’t need us to examine him any further. And then she warned us not to breathe a word to anybody else – ever – about what happened. The money was wired into our accounts the next day. And that’s the end of it – honest.”

I snatched the autopsy back from George’s hands, giving him a hard look.

“Go to the computer, and destroy Jack’s file.” I said. “Now!”

George jumped and then scurried onward, like a mouse, to do as he was told.

“But, George, you can’t!” Doctor Harrison yelled, beginning to wrestle madly against his restraints. “If you delete the file, the managers will notice during our next inspection! That one action could prompt an entire investigation – we could lose our jobs!”

“Well, Doctor Harrison…” I said, leaning in close, to stare into his face. I wanted to ensure that there was no chance that he could mistake my wrath for anything less.

“Maybe next time you’ll think to invest in a better computer.”

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George destroyed the file, leaving in my hands the only evidence left in the world that could support my theory that my father had been killed. Ethan re-assumed his human form, and changed swiftly back into his clothes. We were done here, having gotten all that we wanted – and then some. But rather than triumph, all I felt was more sadness and anger.

“You can undo him” Ethan told Dr. Grey, while slipping back into his jacket. “But give us a five minute head start, huh George?”

Ethan came to stand beside me, as I pressed the elevator’s call button. George was still rooted to the same spot, but couldn’t see any part of Dr. Harrison, he was so well concealed by the table’s girth.

“Ok, whatever you want,” he reassured. “We won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“Oh, you’d better not, boys.” I warned. “Or I’ll be back – I promise you that.”

The elevator doors opened with a short ding and Ethan and I took our leave.

“Remember,” I said to George. “You two keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours. Unless of course an inspection comes along. In that case… you’re on your own. Have a nice day gentleman.”

The doors closed after that, but I didn’t need to hear a reply from George, or Doctor Harrison, to know that they were new players on Team Naomi. In all truth, I knew that George would probably untie his co-worker, and then the two of them would probably rush to concoct a brand new, fake autopsy to again replace the original. But the important thing, was that the original was destroyed. And now that I had the last, true copy, I was free to do with it as I pleased.

“So what happens now, Mimi?” Ethan asked, leaning against the wall of the elevator and looking at me with a newfound sense of respect. “You’ve got the evidence right there in your hands. And even I have to admit – it honestly looks like Paris might have really killed her husband.”

“Yeah, sure seems that way doesn’t?” I said softly, looking down at the papers in my hands. “She must have killed him while they were out riding. And then she lied about it to the police, the EMT’s, the hospital staff – everyone except George and Doctor Harrison. She used them to help cover it up, and then stole his body and had him cremated just to hide the evidence. I have to admit, that was pretty well thought out.”

“Hey, are you ok?” Ethan asked suddenly, looking at me with unmistakable concern.

“I’m fine.” I said, looking back at him calmly and with all the poise in the world. At the moment, my dignity was the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely.

“Ok. Then, what are you gonna do?” Ethan asked gently.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. We were on the first floor again.